Waiting
by marialisa
Summary: He hated waiting.


**Author's Note: **CSI:NY and all the characters belong to CBS.

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**Waiting**

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It was so small. 

He'd done his best to ignore it; had forced his hand to continue its sensual exploration of her body, but he had taken more time than usual and held her closer after. Conscious of her curves as they pressed against him, he'd counted every breath that whispered across his face, banking them in his memory like a miser banks his gold.

Now he lay alone in their bed, listening to the sound of her in the shower, not warmed by the memories of their love-making, but paralysed by the cold fear that ran like ice through his veins. He screwed his eyes tightly shut in a desperate attempt to block out the memories of a jaundiced face and pain racked body, and the agonising feeling of helplessness that comes with only being able to stand and watch.

A voice at the edge of his consciousness, just out of earshot, a shadow just out of his sight forced him out of the bed and into the bathroom. He paused for a moment to stare at her outline through the misted shower door before opening it and joining her, his hands sliding around her waist to anchor her to him, his head dropping to kiss the soft skin at the base of her neck.

'I thought you'd forgotten me.'

His arms tightened involuntarily. 'Never.' She was imprinted on his soul.

'You fall asleep there, Detective? All this exercise too much for you?'

She leaned back into him as she laughed. He loved to hear her laugh. He banked its soft throaty purr in his memory, along with the feeling of her body, slippery and warm in his hands, but stayed silent, unable to find the right words. Instead he ran his hands slowly down over her hips, lingered a moment as he gathered every ounce of courage he had then slowly let them wander up her body again. A stutter and then his left hand stopped and wrapped itself tightly around her waist whilst his right hand collected hers and then gently guided it upward and across towards her left breast.

Before his hand had reached its destination her body began to tremble and he felt a brief moment of selfish relief. She already knew. He didn't have to be the one to tell her.

'When?'

'Yesterday.'

He had left for work before she woke yesterday. Conflicting shifts had kept them apart until a couple of hours ago. She'd been on her own when she'd found it.

He should have been there.

She turned to face him, and he could tell she was getting ready to deliver an explanation she would have rehearsed any number of times over the last 36 hours as to why she hadn't told him straight away, but the words of explanation died on her lips when she read the understanding in his eyes.

And he did understand. She'd been pretending too; holding onto one last moment of 'normal' before everything changed. But there was no pretending anymore and as he watched he saw the tentacles of fear creeping into her eyes.

He pulled her to him and buried his face in her hair before she could see the answering terror in his as memories spooled uncontrollably through his mind.

His mother breaking the news to him calmly, determined to beat it 'if it was God's will.' It hadn't been the last time he'd questioned the faith she'd instilled in him as a child as he'd watched her cling to it its beliefs and rituals in an attempt to make sense of what was happening to her.

The news that it was 'looking good', closely followed by the news that a 'secondary source' had been found. A request that he should come home for Sunday lunch bringing with it the revelation over the apple pie that the doctors were predicting no more than six months. She'd been dead three weeks later.

Above all the feelings of anger and grief and helplessness had been the sound of the sobs torn from his father as the doctor pronounced her. He'd never heard him cry before.

'I think we both need a drink.'

Her words dragged him back to the present and they stepped from the shower. He took a towel and dried her carefully before wrapping her in a robe, then dried himself quickly and followed her into the living room.

Her hands shook as she tried to uncork the wine. He took it from her gently, pouring them both a glass before joining her on the couch. She sat with one hand wrapped around her knees, hugging them to her chest, the other holding the wine glass. She stared sightlessly off into the middle distance.

He waited.

He hated waiting.

He'd waited for her to realise that they belonged together. Now he wondered if he'd waited for too long; if the life they should have together was about to be ripped away from his grasp.

He waited.

'The doctor's arranged for a needle biopsy tomorrow. I could have had it today, but…'

But she'd waited to tell him: she wanted him there.

'I'll call in and book the day off.'

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the wine in her glass as she swirled it one way and then the other.

'I know this is hard for you.' The fierce look on her face stopped his protests. 'I _know_ this is hard for you. But I'm not going to tell you I'll understand if you want to walk away. I need you…you've made me love you and need you and now I need you more than ever-'

He took the wine glass from her hand and placed it on the table with his before pulling her into his arms.

'I'm not going anywhere. We'll do this together. We'll _fight_ this together.' He kissed her hard. She clung to him.

'The doctor said it could be a cyst. It's far more likely at my age than…'

'Yes.'

'But it might be –'

'Yes.'

'If it is…I'll…I'll have to have a..a….' She made an involuntary glance downward before her eyes flew up again, checking to see where his eyes where focussed; reassured when she saw them still fixed on her face.

She clutched the robe tightly to her, her fingers splaying protectively across her breast. He rested his hand on hers.

'It won't change how I feel…it won't stop me loving you…it won't stop you being beautiful.' He held her tightly. 'It might be a cyst.'

'Yes.'

'We'll know more tomorrow.'

'Yes.'

'I love you.'

'Don't leave me.'

'I'll never leave you. For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, remember?'

_Please god don't you leave me. Not yet. Not until we're old and surrounded by grandchildren._

'It's probably a cyst. We'll be laughing about this in a few days when we get the results of the biopsy.' Her voice shook.

'Yes.'

'We just have to wait.'

'Yes.' His voice was low and soothing but he held her tightly, terrified to let go.

He hated waiting.

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End file.
